Saturday, 28 April 2012

Metamorphosis: The last flight of the Brimstone Butterfly

The following is the last blog written by Caro before she died, which she asked us, her friends, to post for her.  We are glad so many of you appreciated this her Brimstone Butterfly blog.

The Brimstone Butterfly

To my dear friends and readers: may you all enjoy health and happiness, without which life is not worth a candle. As for me, alas “the bright day is done.” I take my final leave of you all with an excerpt from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra.

Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me: now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act; I hear him mock
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath: husband, I come:
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements
I give to baser life. So; have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.

Kisses them. IRAS falls and dies

Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
If thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.

Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say,
The gods themselves do weep!

This proves me base:
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou
mortal wretch,

To an asp, which she applies to her breast

With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool
Be angry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak,
That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass

O eastern star!

Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
That sucks the nurse asleep?

O, break! O, break!

As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle,--
O Antony!--Nay, I will take thee too.

Applying another asp to her arm

What should I stay--


In this vile world? So, fare thee well.
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it, and then play.

A note from Caro's friends: If you are feeling in need of talking about this to someone please contact the Samaritans on 08457 909090.  From outside UK: +44 8457 909090.           Befrienders Worldwide are available on